


From the Trashmouth's Mouth

by freshest



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Also not actual underage content but there is an element of it, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Not actual noncon but it has noncon feeling elements to it, Period Typical Homophobia, bittersweet ending really, eddie sees IT as Richie offering him a blowjob instead of the leper, mildly different from canon, pretty dark beginning but the ending is nicer, sexual harassment towards a minor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:06:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21591976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freshest/pseuds/freshest
Summary: In the book Eddie sees a leper that offers him a blowjob. But what if he had seen Richie offering him a blowjob instead and just told everyone it was a leper?
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 7
Kudos: 196
Collections: It Faves





	From the Trashmouth's Mouth

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing actually happens in regards to sexual content- it's just verbally implied. This is p much just Eddie's scene from the book but a lot more on the nose.

No one had been able to come out and play with Eddie on that day. He remembered calling up Bill, Ben, Mike, and he would have called Bev if it weren’t for her dad. Alvin would pop a vessel if a boy was calling for Bev. Stan, he knew, was out to temple and when he had phoned up Richie, Wentworth had said he wasn’t around.

Eddie should have asked where he was.

Instead he had said a simple, maybe disappointed, ‘okay’ and hung up. Eddie was accustomed to loneliness, to some degree, and when he left his home all on his own, it felt like another day to him.

His feet carried him as they usually did out to the trainyards. The trains had begun to come less and less these days, and when he’d asked his mother about it, she had explained that business in Derry was starting to crumble. When he’d asked why, she had given an unusual reason.

“This place is becoming a liberal hellhole and it’s going to destroy Derry,” she had griped, and Eddie wasn’t too sure what ‘liberal’ was supposed to mean or if it had much to do with businesses, but he had simply nodded his head. It was usually better to not ask his mom about things he didn’t understand.

What he did understand was that she wasn’t wrong- at least not about the business slowing down. Eddie sat himself on the grass on the other side of the chain fence to watch the trains going by and he had for years. The winos in the area scared the living daylights out of him, but he had gotten good at figuring out where they did and didn’t sleep.

He had also learned that there was a sweet spot in the middle of the day where it seemed like most of them were off panhandling around town instead of lumbering about the trainyards. Eddie would carefully step around broken bottles and used needles to find an untouched place to sit.

It was worst by the Neibolt house, and every time he went out to the trainyard, he tried hard not to look at the house for too long. He always felt like it was looking back at him. Would swear his life on it that it was.

On this particular day when he felt eyes on him, Eddie snapped his head to stare up at the looming house, and to his shock he saw a face looking back at him from one of the upstairs windows.

Richie’s face.

“Rich?” Eddie said in wonder, coming to an immediate halt. That was Richie all right. And Richie saw him too, already raising a hand to wave.

“What the fuck are you doing in that place?” Eddie asked, more to himself than Richie, and he was already walking out into the weed infested front yard of the house. He stopped short and gestured for Richie to come down.

Richie shook his head and made a more aggressive for Eddie to come up.

“I don’t wanna get tetanus, you asshole!” Eddie screamed out so that Richie would hear him. Only Richie shook his head and made the gesture again and instead of waiting for Eddie to respond, he turned and left the window.

“Richie,” Eddie squeaked out, and he stopped, wondering if Richie was going to be coming down, but then he faintly heard Richie calling for him. Eddie wanted to walk away, truthfully, but at the same time he couldn’t help but start to feel that familiar wiggle of worry in the pit of his stomach.

Only this time it wasn’t for his sake. This time he wondered what would happen if Richie fell through some rotten hole in the floor and broke his neck. Or if he was messing around with something and a wall fell on him.

The Neibolt house was a walking nightmare and as the various scenarios began to mount inside of his head, he began to mount the stairs, already knowing that he wasn’t going to leave Richie in there alone. He’d give him hell for it later if he had to, but for now he couldn’t let a friend wander alone.

The moment he was inside, Eddie felt his lungs pinch up thin and he unzipped his pack to take out his inhaler for a quick pump. The place was _disgusting._ He could swear that there were at least five different molds growing on the staircase railing alone.

“Richie!” he called out, “Where are you?”

“Up here, Eds!”

“Dude,” Eddie despaired, “Don’t call me that. You can’t make me come into this shithole and then call me that.”

Richie didn’t respond, and maybe that’s when Eddie should have picked up on something because really, when did Richie not have a zinger ready to fire right back?

He was too distracted maybe by Richie leaning over the top of the stairs, looking down at Eddie. Eddie couldn’t quite see his eyes because of the shadows. He couldn’t see much of his face at all.

“Richie?” Eddie asked, maybe a little uneasily. Which was real bullshit, he thought. Richie never made him uneasy.

_Only that wasn’t entirely true, was it?_

The voice came from somewhere inside of him, he thought. No, he figured, it wasn’t true at all. Richie made him uneasy, but not in the same way that the Neibolt house did. He made him uneasy in the sense that Eddie always felt too aware.

Right now that wasn’t exactly what he was feeling though.

“I don’t wanna come up there, Richie. These stairs could be rotted all the way through. And if I fall…”

“You won’t fucking fall, Eddie. Just get up here,” Richie said, and Eddie thought that he sounded a little harsher, a little colder, and it made Eddie feel a fleeting sense of anxiety. He sometimes worried that he annoyed his friends, sometimes was scared that one day one of them would throw their hands up and tell him to shut up for the last time before walking away.

Not everyone liked to hear a hypochondriac rattling away. He couldn’t help it though. What no one seemed to get that it was practically a nervous tic at this point. His mind would start shooting rapid fire bursts of anxiety, and he had to keep up with it, had to do something or else he’d go completely bonkers.

And he _knew_ he could be annoying. Christ, how many times when he was rattling off something or another that they could catch that he would think to himself _just shut the hell up! Why can’t you shut up? Just be normal for once, just be fucking normal!_

“I have something cool to show you,” Richie eventually said, and it sounded more like Richie, enough like Richie that Eddie gave the stairs another reluctant look before finally going up them.

Eddie took it slow. One step at a time and careful of any steps that looked too rickety. He walked on his tiptoes all the way to the very top. Richie was standing there waiting for him in the hall, most of his body in the shadows of the looming walls, and Eddie squinted into the dark at him.

“I can’t really see,” Eddie admitted, and that’s when Richie stepped out into the light.

Richie smiled at him and offered his hand. “C’mon. I can guide you.”

Eddie felt a blush starting to fight its way to his cheeks, and he tried hard, very hard, to ignore it. He grabbed Richie’s hand, cuffing their palms together. Something they had done a dozen times since they were seven. How many times had Richie lead him around like that before? Out in the woods, by the river, through alleys in Derry? Wherever people couldn’t see. Always where no one could see.

Not even their own friends.

He had never really known what that was supposed to mean, really, and he follows Richie, no longer thinking about the rotten steps. He watches the way Richie’s shoulders shift under his t-shirt, and there’s something off.

Eddie can’t quite put his finger on it. He spent a lot of time riding back of Richie’s bike, watching his shoulders rolling, feeling them under his palms. Richie had always looked so strong to him. Some days he even looked stronger than Bill.

But there was something off. Definitely off. Eddie wondered if Richie had maybe fallen in the house after all, but his grip seemed steady and firm on Eddie’s hand. A little firmer than usual, really, but Eddie wasn’t going to complain.

They reached a bedroom that still had a mattress on the floor. The mattress was motheaten and so worn that Eddie couldn’t tell if it looked more gray or brown. It was the only furniture in the room, the windows covered in cobwebs and grime so thick he couldn’t see out the other side.

“Did you find some weird sculpture or something?” Eddie asked, looking around a little nervously. He didn’t know what could be so cool in an old house, after all, except maybe whatever weird stuff had been left behind.

Richie let go of his hand and went over to the mattress, spinning around and falling backwards against it. The moment his body hit there was a puff of dust that poofed up around him.

“You’re going to be filthy,” Eddie chided, wrapping his arms around his thin chest. It felt cold in the room, he thought. Drafty, though he couldn’t see any holes anywhere.

“Nah,” Richie said, wiggling against the mattress a bit. “C’mon. Lay down with me.”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Eddie squeaked at once, his eyes bulging. He was clutching his inhaler so tight that his knuckles were white.

“Kinda,” Richie admitted, propping himself up onto his elbows. He gave Eddie a sharp looking smirk. “I’m mostly just hopeful.”

Eddie frowned and his brows scrunched together.

“What are you talking about?” Eddie asked, and then realized he didn’t want to know. He kicked his foot against Richie’s. “Get up. Just show me whatever.”

“This is what I wanted to show you,” Richie said, gesturing to the mattress.

“Are you kidding me? Please tell me you’re kidding,” Eddie said, starting to feel more angry than nervous. He thrust his inhaler back into his fanny pack and zipped it shut.

“You did not just drag me into this spooky ass cop-off Addams family mansion just to show me some saggy, moldy mattress that some homeless loony probably sleeps in,” Eddie said, and his voice was starting to rise up into a pitched fit.

“Chill out,” Richie said, holding a hand up, “It’s not the mattress I wanna show you, dumbass. It’s what I can show you _on_ the mattress.”

Eddie’s arms went back around his chest, and he squeezed himself a little harder. He wasn’t as naïve as most of the town wanted to think he was. He heard how boys talked in the locker room, heard the sort of stuff they talked about and knew vaguely what most of it meant.

“This isn’t funny,” Eddie said, and he felt a tightening at the back of his throat. Was Richie trying to make fun of him? Did he know that…?

Eddie felt his face start to turn hot, and he spun around, not wanting Richie to see, and decided he was done playing. He stomped towards the door, but Richie called his name, and there was this small desperate tone to it that had Eddie stopping.

“Eddie, please. Don’t leave,” Richie begged softly, and Eddie slowly turned back around. There was a surprisingly vulnerable look on Richie’s face then. Eddie realized that he looked a lot paler than usual too. Had he been that pale out in the hallway?

“Are you okay, Richie?” he asked.

“I’m just nervous,” Richie said quickly, swallowing. His shoulders gave a funny jerk, and Eddie moved forward, his hands out in the air. As he got close enough to the mattress, Richie reached out with both of his hands to grab Eddie by his wrists.

“Let me blow you,” Richie said, and at first Eddie just didn’t really comprehend it. He stared down at Richie, and sure, he heard the words just fine. Knew what they individually meant. But put them together and have them come out of Richie’s mouth?

Eddie began to glare at his friend.

“I fucking knew it,” he said at last, “You _are_ making fun!”

“No,” Richie said with an odd calmness, “I wanna suck your dick.”

Eddie’s face felt even hotter, and he tried to pull away, but Richie’s hands were ironclad on his wrists.

“You’re being a jerk,” Eddie insisted. Even if he wasn’t, the idea of Richie coming on like that so abruptly? It scared the living fuck out of Eddie. There was no way Richie saw him like that, but more than that, even if he did, weren’t they way too young?

No, he supposed not. He knew some of the guys in their grade had fooled around already with girls. Allegedly for most of them, but everyone knew about Adam and Jessica- they had been walked in on.

But Eddie sure as hell was too young. Too nervous, too uncertain, and he was convinced that the moment he let himself think about _that_ his dick would shrivel up and fall off as punishment. _Not my Eddie-bear, my Eddie’s not like those other, filthy boys. He’s a good boy, a clean boy._

“I know you want me to,” Richie insisted, and he gave Eddie’s wrists a hard yank. Eddie shrieked, nearly toppling over, but managed to catch hold. Richie stuck out his tongue and flicked it. It was black all the way through, and Eddie could see white warts bubbled up on the sides.

“ _Richie!”_ he gasped sharply, suddenly trying to get away from his friend a whole lot harder than he had seconds ago. “S-Something’s wrong with you, Rich. We need to- to get you to the hospital.”

“Nothing’s wrong with _me,_ Eds, but something’s wrong with _you_ and I think you know what,” Richie said, and he smirked again. This time his teeth were filed down into crude points, and Eddie felt like the floor gave out beneath him.

“Let me go!” he cried out, pulling as hard as he could, but it was no use.

“Something’s real wrong with a guy who wants his best friend to suck him off,” Richie went on, and when he stuck his tongue back out, it lolled out, a foot long, two feet, three feet, and foamy spit dripped down in yellowish globs.

Eddie screamed a hellcat scream and wrenched his whole body away. It was enough to break hold, but it was also enough to send him onto his ass. Richie was on him in seconds, his usually blue eyes a gleaming yellow, one drifting slightly to the side.

“C’mon Eds, I’ll blow ya for free.”

“Get off of me!” Eddie screamed, shoving at Richie’s body hard. He managed to get out from under him and booked it for the door. He didn’t even dare to look back, his heart pounding in his chest and roaring in his ears.

“You can’t run from me, Eddie! I follow you into your dreams,” Richie called out after him, but his voice had begun to distort. Halfway down the stairs, Eddie heard a skittering behind him, and when he looked, Richie was crawling down the steps after him, with two sets of arms and two sets of legs, tapping across the stairs like a spider.

“Jesus _Christ!_ ” Eddie hit the bottom step wrong and his ankle rolled, and he fell with it, crashing against the floor. Richie was a few steps above him, but he stopped, smiling a wide smile. Strange red markings had appeared on his face, and his clothes had become silvery, and Eddie could of sworn he saw giant red cotton balls down the front of his chest.

“You can’t run from this,” Richie snarled, and it wasn’t his voice at all anymore, “You’ll die here, Eds, you’ll die because of me and it’s exactly what you deserve. You know it is.”

Eddie couldn’t even find it in himself to scream anymore. He just got to his feet and sprinted out of the house, down the steps and across the yard. He didn’t dare look back.

The entire sprint back to his house was blinding, and by the time he got into his bedroom, he didn’t even notice that he hadn’t needed his inhaler even once while sprinting away.

He sat down at the foot of his bed, and when he looked, he noticed hand-shaped bruises around each wrist.

“Richie would never hurt you,” he said out loud to himself, his whole body trembling. It was the only thing he could cling onto. He knew Richie wouldn’t do that to him, wouldn’t grab him so hard his bones would grind together.

He didn’t know what the fuck that thing was, but when the Losers met later and began to talk about the things they had started to see, Eddie realized he couldn’t tell them the truth of what he had really seen. Not with the real Richie looking around with confused, blue eyes (his _real_ eyes – blue, blue like the ocean, blue like a stormy day, and not yellow not that awful, awful yellow-).

So, Eddie told them that he had seen a leper. No one thought twice about it.

But he did.

He thought about it all the time. Something out there had known that part of him he tried so _hard_ to ignore. The bruises didn’t go away, but his mother didn’t seem to see them at all. If she had, God knows she would have taken him straight to the hospital in a tizzy.

The Losers saw the bruises, and they had all figured it was from the leper. Eddie had confirmed as much, but Richie kept looking. At first Eddie had thought that he was delusional, but then he caught Richie really staring, and finally he spoke up about it.

“What’s the matter with you?” Eddie asked, but he wasn’t mad. He just felt tired, and he tucked his wrists against his stomach and out of the way. They were laying in the hammock when he caught Richie looking at him. It had taken days before Eddie could lay back in the hammock with Richie. He had tried to make excuses to sit anywhere else in the Clubhouse, but at the end, old habits always managed to snare him the tightest.

“Nothing,” Richie said haltingly, adjusting his glasses. “It just looks like those are small handprints.”

“What?”

“I’m just sayin’. If a grown man put his hands on you like that…”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Eddie instantly snapped, and he felt bad for how harsh it came out, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t talk about this. Eddie scrambled out of the hammock.

“Eds, wait,” Richie said, sitting up just as quick. “Dude, I’m just worried.”

“Don’t be,” Eddie said, fixing his clothes needlessly. “I’m fine. They’re just bruises.”

“Eddie,” Richie said, softer, and Eddie hated him suddenly. Just for a split second. Because Richie was everything that was so wrong and awful about himself. Eddie had always felt differently about Richie ever since they had first met, but as they got older, he had started to notice how different those feelings really were.

They seemed to get worse every year.

Lately they were getting even harder to ignore. It had been one thing when he was seven years old and the extent of his daydreams about Richie were limited to sparkling Disney-motifs in his head about how they’d get married one day.

Then as he grew up, those daydreams became a lot more realistic which meant no chariot-lead happy endings. Instead they were more Derry-colored dreams but dreams all the same. Dreams of sneaking a small kiss on the cheek at the very back of the theater or holding pinkies under a table where no one could see.

That’s all he had ever really wanted, maybe, at first. Just. Something. Something between them that let him know that Richie was his and he was Richie’s.

Then they started to become teenagers and hormones made everything feel more intense. He didn’t just want to hold Richie’s hand, but he wanted to maybe kiss him on the mouth, and he maybe wanted to just be something with Richie rather than just be an idea of something.

No, he didn’t think he wanted what that abomination in the Neibolt house had told him he wanted, but he thought maybe one day when they were older it would be okay if he wanted that stuff. If he could get over himself thinking it was so bad.

He never really could was the problem. Every day when he fluttered too close to Richie’s light, he felt sick with how much he felt.

If it wasn’t for his sake, then it was for Richie’s. He couldn’t drag Richie down to that. If Eddie burned in hell, he’d do it alone.

Eddie realized he’d fallen completely silent, and so had Richie. Richie who was staring at him from behind those stupid glasses, and Eddie dimly realized that his eyes hadn’t looked as big in the Neibolt house. It hadn’t gotten that right either.

“I can’t talk about it,” Eddie finally said, staring down at his own feet. “I can’t, Richie.” He didn’t hate Richie at all. He loved him, and he hated that he loved him.

“Eddie,” Richie’s voice was a lot closer, and when Eddie looked up, he was pulled into a crushing hug. Richie’s arm was wrapped around his waist, and the other around his shoulders. His hand rested against the back of his head.

Eddie couldn’t breathe, and then he could, he could and he did, his thin arms wrapping around Richie just as tightly. He pressed his face into his friend’s shoulder and breathed in his familiar musky, smoky scent. He had begun to cry at some point, but Richie didn’t say a word about it, just stroked the back of his head.

Eddie didn’t think this was another joke. The Neibolt Richie had been a foul, loathsome creature, hard in all the places Richie was softest, and Eddie should have known it was an imposter. The real Richie wouldn’t have done so many of those things.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie finally said.

“You didn’t do anything,” Richie said, and Eddie squeezed his eyes shut. God he wished that were true.

“I just,” Eddie started, the words at the tip of his mouth. Maybe if he confessed, It couldn’t hold that over him anymore. He could confess and let Richie reject him and that could be the end of it all.

But he couldn’t. The words began to shape themselves in his mouth, but by the time they got to the tip of his tongue they had withered away into a sound that wasn’t too different from a whimper.

“Eds?”

“Never mind,” Eddie said. He was just too afraid.

He was always too afraid.


End file.
